


Against My Will

by Dark_and_night



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: One Shot, Other, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_and_night/pseuds/Dark_and_night
Summary: Brahms keeps stealing your shirts.
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 131





	Against My Will

“Brahms, get out of my closet.” You sighed, arms crossed, frankly too tired to deal with Brahms and his childish antics.  


Brahms snapped into standing position, whirling around to look at you. He clutched one of your shirts to his chest, caught in the act of stealing your clothes. He had gotten better about stealing your things, but sometimes he apparently just got the urge.  


Brahms remained silent, regardless of the fact that he had just broken one of your ground rules. His shoulders slumped and he tilted his head downwards and to the right, which, when you were just getting used to him, would have made your heart twinge. Now, you knew that that pose was his go-to fake guilty look.  


“Put the shirt back.” You commanded, raising your eyebrow at him.  


“I just love you so much.” Brahms said quietly, still clinging to the shirt.  


“If you love me that bad, you can ask to borrow a shirt that might actually fit you.” You hated sounding so strict, but you knew the only way you could help him get better would be to slowly break him out of some of his less obsessive tendencies. “Please, Brahmsy, we talked about you taking my things without asking.”  


Brahms turned away before slowly putting the shirt back in its intended spot in your drawer. Quickly he turned back to you.  


“Can I borrow your shirt?” He asked.  


You blinked before laughing softly, shaking your head in exasperation. “Fine, fine, you can borrow a shirt. But not the one you just grabbed, I like that shirt.”  


Walking over to your drawer, you pulled out an old school shirt that was about two sizes too big for you and handing it to Brahms. “Take this one.”  


Brahms took it, his eyes suspicious behind his mask. “Does it smell like you?”  


You smiled, trying not to laugh again, knowing he was serious, but the question itself just seemed silly. “I’m sure that it does.”  


Brahms gently wrung the shirt in his hands, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “Fine.” He said, and you could tell he was pouting.  


“Why do you want to take my things so badly, Brahms?” You asked.  


“Because I love you. I want things that remind me of you.” Brahms stated, turning to take the shirt to his room.  


“But, I’m around you all the time.” You said softly. You said it too late, Brahms was already gone, going to take your shirt to his room and do god knows what to it.  


Shaking your head, you started rearranging your drawer back to how it looked before Brahms had started sorting through it. As you sorted through it, you noticed an article of clothing you knew wasn’t yours.  


Pulling it out, you saw that it was Brahms’ green cardigan. You frowned slightly in confusion, when you realized that Brahms must have put it there to make up for stealing your shirt without asking.  


“Oh Brahmsy.” You mumbled softly, hugging the sweater to your chest. It smelled like the laundry detergent the two of you shared and the oaky scent that always seemed to linger on Brahms’ skin. You slipped it on, feeling warm and embarrassed that you were making such a big deal of wearing his clothes.  


Every time you asked why he did what he did-steal your clothes, watch you when you did chores, and ask you to read out loud to him-he always replied that it was because he loved you. You’d made it clear that you didn’t feel the same way, that you couldn’t love a mental eight year old, that you couldn’t love Brahms as he was.  


Your original plan was to just get him well enough to leave the house, find him a therapist, and then whatever happened after that was up to Brahms and the therapist. There was one small hitch, however.  


You were in love with Brahms.  


It had happened over time, before you realized that it was happening. You loved always having him near you, you loved it when he gently grabbed the back of your shirt while you cooked for him, you loved his bouncy curls and honest eyes. You love his voice, his real voice, the one you got to hear more and more when you rewarded him for speaking like an adult.  


It happened before you knew it, and you were in love with him.  


You pulled the cardigan up to your face, breathing in his scent. “Against my will, I guess I love you too.”  


You didn’t know that Brahms had been watching you, didn’t know that he had heard you. And you especially didn’t know how happy he was to hear you finally say those words while wearing his clothes. In that moment, you were his and his alone.


End file.
